


will you still speak of my name?

by shanyuan



Series: into the burgisverse™ [3]
Category: Burgisverse
Genre: Backstory, Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, High School, Past Relationship(s), Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28648296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shanyuan/pseuds/shanyuan
Summary: A collection of stories revolving around the exact moment my muses fell in love with their past loves; set years before the current timeline in Burgisverse.
Relationships: Anica Cosmina Cretu/Zao Yang, Eliseo Angelo Basco-Légazpi/Feng-Mian Yang, Emilijā Elzbieta Laurinaityte/Katya Natasha Novikova, Erika Melyna Vogt/Maksim Nikolai Novikov, Levyn Leano Vogt/Natalya Mikalaj Novikova
Series: into the burgisverse™ [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2122821
Kudos: 2





	1. your smile is brighter than the sun

There are lots of things that  _ just _ don't go well together—oil and water, egg and mayonnaise on a platter of sizzling  _ sisig, _ Anica Cosmina and company parties.

She should be writing inside her room right now; not dawdling amongst people she didn't know. The next regional press conference for campus journalists was coming up in two weeks; she needed to be cooped up in her room, a black pen on hand, scribbling away drafts of topics she'll generate online. Anica should be tying her hair up herself. But that wasn't the case tonight—she strutted alongside her family's clients, colleagues, wearing pumps that were too tight on her feet. She was wearing a red dress that stopped just right below her knees; her hair was tied up, but it wasn't done by her hands.

A sigh escapes her colored lips.

Her siblings usually got away from attending these, much to her dismay. Unfortunately for her, their parents always, always made sure that Anica attended, primarily because she was the oldest—the most beautiful, the kindest. She was the perfect heir to their company; if only she stepped up and took on her rightful position as the heritor.

“Have you tasted the cake, pisicuță?” Florin, her father, pats her back reassuringly as soon as he finishes posing his question. The redhead only smiles; shaking her head weakly.

“I haven't yet. Why don't I go get some?”

He nods approvingly at that; pointing to the direction of the towering pastry, riddled with various decorations made by the finest baker in town.

Anica braces her feet for the grueling walk she was about to take.

They were in a hotel somewhere in Clark; the flight from Manila to there was fairly quick, but she heard it would have taken them nearly five hours by car. She shudders at the thought. The venue was pristine; the chandeliers all twinkled to the crystals looming over the lights, the curtains were blue and green, and the floors were carpeted to the brim. 

“Turn around,”

The line to get a slice of the cake was surprisingly brisk; in no longer than five minutes, Anica was already in front of the crowd, pushing her plate forward so that the person behind the table could place a piece on her plate. The flavor was mocha, apparently; her mouth watered just at the sight of the frosting. Her head lights up. Anica and sweets also didn't go well together, she remarks to no one in particular, but Anica and cake frosting will always, always,  _ always _ go hand-in-hand.

“Hello?”

Anica then mutters a word of gratitude, flashing the person a smile, soon turning on her heel to finally move and hide behind one of the many arches found in the room.

She grins excitedly to herself, with her stare directed on the floor. She can finish her cake in solitude and then listen to the playlist that Andrius sent her a little over last week.

“Huh. I knew it was you!”

When a cold hand touches her shoulder, Anica instinctively jumps, nearly dropping her cake to the floor. She turns around, ready to apologize for her misdemeanor, but as soon as she meets familiar hazel eyes—she finds herself in awe at the person in front of her.

“You're in my class, right?” Zao Yang slips both of his hands inside his coat's pockets, offering her a smile brighter than the sun itself. Anica flushes in place, soon straightening her posture, nodding vigorously afterwards.

“Yes,” she averts her gaze elsewhere, too embarrassed to face him head-on. “Anica Cosmina. You're Zao, right?”

The months following their first meeting, Anica Cosmina would come to realize that although there are a lot of things that don't go well together, Anica and Zao would not be a part of that list.


	2. with words she'll carry until the end

Freshman year was often filled with various opportunities. Whether or not they led to something good was typically out of the question. Want friends to stand alongside you until your fourth year? Then you better spruce it up and befriend whoever it is you find interesting—if they're a bad apple, tolerate them. Do what you have to do to get by.

That was what she was taught. Erika Melyna lived an eccentric life filled with whatever her parents wanted her to do.

“What are you having?”

She blinks a couple of times to register her best friend's question. It was their lunch break. The vending machine found near the entrance of the cafeteria wasn't swarmed by students  _ just _ yet, primarily because their teacher right before lunch dismissed their section early, granting them early access to the amenities in the campus. Maksim Nikolai stood in front of her with his gorgeous violet eyes and his pristine blond hair, an arched brow adorning his expression as he awaited for her to respond.

Erika gulps; soon shaking her head.

“I'll have what you're having, Maks.” Was her brief reply, clasping her hands behind her back afterwards. Nikolai eyes her carefully; an exasperated sigh escaping the edges of his lips soon after.

Nikolai was the first person she saw during their opening ceremony on the first day of classes; her hands were shaking that day. He noticed, surprisingly enough, and he offered her his gloves—seemingly assuming that she was shaking because of the cold. Nonetheless, she flashed him a grin and she cloaked her fingers with the fabric, introducing herself shortly afterwards. Maybe he can be her friend.

She repeated the words of her parents a thousand times in her head that day;  _ do what you have to do to get by. _ And that was what she did. 

Halfway through the school year, she was already best friends with a boy whose tongue was sharper than the rest of the students in their batch—if only he spoke. She laughs endearingly at the thought.

“Geez,” the male rolls his eyes. Even though he had his back turned towards her, Erika could still feel the blooming sourness grow evident in his expression. “Can't you choose your own drink?”

She pouts at him, soon releasing a groan herself. “But I always like the chocolate thing you buy.”

Nikolai inserts a 20-peso bill through the slits where it belonged, clicking a few buttons on the machine thereafter.

“I don't,” another sigh; Nikolai has been having a lot of those lately. Erika couldn't ascertain if she should begin to worry. “It tastes like shit. I keep ordering that just so you could tell me off and choose your own damn drink.”

Erika only gives him a lopsided grin; lightly blushing at his statement. It made her feel special when he spoke to her; choosing to believe that he only did so around her because  _ she _ was special to  _ him  _ as well.

“I'll always order what you're having, though.” She interlocks their arms together, a gesture she's been doing more as of late. “I trust your judgment.”

When Erika sees the way Nikolai's cheeks get flooded with a familiar hue of pink, she assures herself then and there that she was glad he wasn't one of the things that her parents decided for her.


	3. as the breeze swishes through

They were in their sophomore year when she introduced him to her brother.

Yao was strict with everything. Their family's reputation, their individual reputations, their educational standing— _ everything.  _ Sure, he had no say in the friends that they would make along the way (primarily because he tried that last year, with Zao, when he became friends with Alfred Jones—alas, he failed), but Yao always made sure that he was able to express his distaste when he deemed it necessary. 

“Who's this?”

Her grip on Eli's hand tightens protectively, her head snapping to the source of voice. Her oldest brother stood by the doorframe of their living room, apron tied neatly around his waist, a sharp stare directed on their adjoined hands. Eliseo gulps.

“Eliseo. A friend of mine from school.” Fey's tone was cool once her words were out in the open. Her companion shifts under the intensity of Yao's stare, forcing his chin down for the first time in his life, out of respect and trepidation.

“Did anybody see you come in?”

She shakes her head. That was a lie. Feng-mian was certain that numerous people saw her enter the building with him, with their hands entwined delicately.

“Call the chauffeur when he leaves. Exit through the back. Dinner starts at six.”

Harsh glare—Yao scoffs at Feng-mian before turning his heel, reentering the premises of the quiet kitchen. She exhales a breath of relief, her free hand rubbing her throat carefully. As they walk up to her room, she musters out a whisper, “Dinner starts at six. That means he wants you gone by then.”

“Oh.”

The silence consumes the two of them until they enter the comforts of Feng-mian's room. Eli gawks in awe upon seeing her paintings on the wall; taking his time to admire them one by one, occasionally taking pictures of them despite her disagreement.

The ticking of the clock sends Fey's mind flying. But when he breaks the silence, she finds herself disappointed upon realizing that her feet were still glued on the ground.

“Don't get me wrong, your brother seems lovely.” The brunette started, soon plopping himself on top of her bed. “But what's up with him?”

Fey drops her bag on the ground, facing away from Eli, letting her lips spread into an amused smile.

“He thinks he's qualified to look out for me and Zao.”

“Well, isn't he?”

She looks at him with bewilderment, her brown optics gleaming with a similar emotion. Fey walks closer, soon standing in front of him, her hands perched on her waist. He asked a lot of questions. He was lucky she gave him her time of day willingly. “No. He only feels that way because he has everything.”

He raises a hand near the side of her face, soon tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“And you guys don't?”

She slaps away his hand—he doesn't wince, however; Eliseo only laughs at her displeasure. She glares at him.

“No. He and my _ sister _ have everything.” She takes a seat beside him; her head leaning comfortably atop his shoulder blade. “Zao has.. the bare minimum, I guess. And I have nothing.”

“You have your notebook.” He argues immediately.

“That's superficial.”

“You have me.”

Cheeky grin. Eliseo lets his gaze flicker to her lips, trailing up until he locks eyes with her, biting the seams of his bottom lip. Feng-mian only hits the bridge of his nose lightly with the pen she brought out from her pocket, almost as if she was telling him not to stare.

“Maybe. But not in the ways that matter.”

If that day, Feng-Mian began to yearn for something more than just friendship with Eliseo Angelo, then she would not tell him until they were finally in their third year.


	4. paint your palette blue and gray

There was a lone European Aspen behind Emilijā's house in Vilnius; it stood tall on grassy ground, a bench situated directly in front of it for the people to use.

She's always liked hiding there. Hiding was a stretch, since it was an open area, but during times of conflict inside their house, she would always confine herself on the same bench. She'd bring her guitar, occasionally her violin, because she figured it would be a pain in the ass to bring her other instruments. She'll take only what she can carry.

An afternoon in midspring, a fight erupted inside her house—something along the lines of her mother not doing enough for the company, and her father being a critical, narcissistic asshole who only cared about their fortune. Their voices began to blur out the more steps she took towards the tree; she was uncertain of what was happening inside there now.

She exhales. The Novikovs were visiting right now, too. They must be regretting their vacation.

She strums her guitar, her left hand cradling the fretboard of its neck. Her eyes flutter close soon after, humming the beginning of a song she's loved ever since she was little.

Her chest heaves up and down calmly—finally regaining her usual composure. 

“Vincent, by Don McLean. I'm surprised you know that song.”

Katya Natasha takes a seat right next to Emilijā as soon as she finishes speaking her remark, her right shoulder coming into contact with the brunette's left one. Emi nods nervously—wondering when Katya had gotten there. 

“It was my mom's favorite,” she leans her head on her friend's shoulder, softly placing the bottom part of her guitar's body on her left foot. She holds it steady with her right hand, letting her nerves soothe out with the sound of Natasha's rhythmic breathing. 

“It was mine, as well.” Natasha pauses, taking Emi's free hand onto hers, before continuing. “Are you doing alright?”

Emi, although saddened by the disappointing outcome of their midspring vacation, would then learn how to smile in satisfaction despite the lingering resentment. “I am now.”


	5. maybe it'll never arrive

Levyn Leano was lackluster next to his sister. That was a fact.

Erika was perfect; she was smart, beautiful, sweet, generous, and she was easy to order around. Her parents favored her because she always listened to their requests, no matter how selfish they were. A pushover. Levyn was the opposite—maybe he was smart, and maybe he was good-looking, but he has constantly made sure that his parents' opinions of him were dull and low. He disliked the pressure of having to meet expectations, and as well as the swirling disappointment that would subsequently arrive the moment after a failure.

He'll do his own thing, and he'll do it however he pleases, because it was his life.

He scoffs at the thought. He wishes that were true.

“Can you pass me a pen?”

He doesn't want to. His pens were all his, he bought them with his allowance—so why should he lend her a pen? She was annoying. Natalya Mikalaj was irritating.

“Here you go,” he curses himself inwardly when he places his spare pen on her desk. “You can have it.”

He didn't want her to have it. But he functioned in autopilot whenever he was next to her.

“Thanks, Lev.” She doesn't smile at him; Natalya doesn't smile at anyone. But he wishes she would—he wishes she would laugh, at least once, around him. She was beautiful in her own right. Even with the usual frown she fashioned—no, even in spite of that.

But it was always the wrong time—always the wrong moment. It was never the right time for him to fall in love with her. He's been friends with her for almost a year now; he was starting to believe that maybe the right time would never arrive. Maybe that was okay. That was for the best. He'll repeat those thoughts until the day he finally believed them.

Because she was cruel and distant, perhaps just as much as he was—so she would never love him back. That was a fact. 

“Do you want to buy some new pens after class?”

He raises his head to meet her curious stare, adoring the way her hushed whispers resonated inside his ear like a song he never wanted to forget. She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, waving his pen playfully with her hand.

Levyn Leano was lackluster next to literally everyone—but Natalya always made sure he felt special, even though it was through her own little ways.

When he answers her meekly, he lets his shoulders relax.

“Sure, why not?”

Not the right time—it was never going to be the right time, but he fell in love with her in spite of that fact.


End file.
